Le Morte de Hopefully Not Anyone Important
by SuperWhoAvengeMerLockBOOKS
Summary: SuperWhoMerLock - The Doctor has found a universe hopping top, causing him to land in front of 221B Baker Street, ripping holes in the time vortex, allowing Team Free Will to fall into the arms of the TARDIS. Together, they take a chance visit to Camelot, where a princess has come forth, giving the travelers doubts as to her true intentions... Which are all good, mind you. (-w-)
1. Chapter 1

_One cold, thunder-storming evening in London – 221B Baker Street_

"Sherlock?"

"Ah, John. I told you to pass me a pen."

"… I'm sorry, when was this?"

"Mmm… About ten minutes ago."

John is still fascinated at how Sherlock gets anything done at all without moving. Then again, he had that extraordinary mind of his to do all the work. Lazy.

"Do you mind?"

"Hmm?"

"The pen."

"…Right."

John plucked a pen from the fireplace and aimed it at Sherlock's head.

"Please don't throw that at me."

"What?"

"Don't throw that at me."

"What was I throwing?"

"The pen."

"Ah… that."

Of course, John threw the pen. Unfortunately, Sherlock got the hint that he was going to throw it anyway, and caught the pen with surprising accuracy, clicking it while guiding it towards the paper. He furiously wrote on the notepad, ripped out the piece of paper, stared at it, placed it on the wall, then stared at it some more. All the evidence was lined up right before his eyes, yet he couldn't make sense of it.

"Tell me again, what are we working on?" John didn't understand this case at all. Sherlock had come back to the flat one day and just started working frantically on something about time and space and whatnot.

"Well, obviously _you're _not working on it, seeing as you can think of nothing but to throw pens at me."

"…Did you ever think that, I don't know… maybe, possibly, I was in a bloody THUNDERSTORM and had to walk in the pouring rain without an umbrella with lightning flashing all over the damn sky with not one BLOODY CAB in sight!?"

"No, why would I think–" Sherlock looked up and saw John's clothes. They were, of course, soaked to the last fiber.

"…You were saying?" At this point, John could only silently fume. Not at Sherlock. Well, not directly. At himself. For ever renting a flat with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock looked back at his notes. "It's a case on time and space, like I said before. All these strange sightings of a blue box. A lot of people claimed it made a noise, then disappeared."

John moved from the fireplace to the window and stared outside, still fuming.

"…John? …John." Sherlock was starting to worry about John's health. _No, _he thought to himself, y_ou know that he's angry. _

Of course, utter temptation engulfed John Watson, pulling him into The Case of the Blue Box. _That's the name for it on the blog_, he thought. _...Was that too premature?_

"…So…What's the connection between time and space and a blue box?" Honestly, John had no idea.

"Hmm? Oh. Well, the fact that it disappears is one," Sherlock said with a smirk. Then he remembered that John was probably still slightly angry at him, so he wiped the grin off and quickly continued.

"Then there's all the sighting times – one in Cardiff at 6:04 in the morning, then immediately another sighting in London at 6:04 in the morning on that very same day, of the very same object, only 20 seconds apart. That, logically speaking, cannot happen."

"But a time machine is not logical, is it?"

"Exactly! That's why it must be some kind of teleportation machine. But it's not."

"…Teleportation, I get, but time and space don't seem to fit the image here, and that's all you've been doing for the past week, at least."

Sherlock didn't answer John. Instead, he looked at all his notes and snatched a picture from the wall. It was a drawing of a blue box. Sketchy, colored in messily. It had the words _Police Public Call Box _etched on the top. It looked like one of those old telephone booths they had a while back.

"What are you looking at? Come on, don't keep it to yourself." John walked to the wall and looked at the picture Sherlock was holding. "Is that what they saw when they said blue box? You could've just asked me."

Sherlock's attention snapped right back to John. "You saw it?"

"Well, you kept saying it was a blue _box_–"

"I didn't say that, it was those witnesses with such lack of intelligence."

"… If they lack so much intelligence, why listen to them at all?"

"Because they're my only lead. Now hurry up and tell me where you saw it."

"Not until you tell me what it has to do with time and space."

"I can tell you later, this is important."

"Well, it's not so important to me, so I can wait."

"It's important to the case!"

"But you just said I could do nothing better than to throw pens at you." John was now dry enough to sit in his chair, and so he did.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and started pacing around the room. "I can't possibly explain it to you without wasting valuable time. Judging from your face, you probably saw it on your way back from… Where? The bank? Yes, the bank. Why did you go to the bank? Probably to give Harry some money. Anyways, where did you see it? Tell me before it's too late!"

"Tell _me_ before it's too late."

"UUUGGGHH." Sherlock moaned. Why did he have to find such an annoying partner? "…Fine, I'll tell you. It's…intuition."

"…Intuition? But you always said that what was impossible must not be true, therefore you are left with the answer."

"…I never said that."

"No?"

"No."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"…It was something like that. Anyway, intuition is not usually how you solve your cases."

"Well, this isn't a usual case, is it?"

"Unless you're lying."

"JOHN, will you PLEASE just TELL me where it was!?"

"No."

"UUGHHHH. I cancelled all other probabilities."

"What about teleportation?"

"It was either this or that and this was more appealing. Besides, teleportation is not an interesting topic. Now can you please spit it out already!?"

"So… the part about intuition is true?"

"YES! Hurry up and tell me!"

"Oh. It was just outside the window."

"What!?"

Sherlock ran to the window. He saw a telephone booth almost identical to the one drawn. He ran past John, grabbed his coat and scarf, and practically fell down the stairs of the flat.

"Wait! You'll be needing an–" BAM. The door downstairs slammed behind Sherlock, corresponding to the faint sound of thunder. "–umbrella."

John stared at the open doorway. "Well. Tell me if it's a time machine… But you probably won't be here to tell me… So… Just in case you get whisked away, I'm not letting you leave without me." And with that, John put on his jacket and followed Sherlock out the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello there! Sorry to interrupt your reading, but I just want to inform all the wonderful people who read this. This story contains Supernatural spoilers up to the end of Season 6, so I don't want to ruin anyone's anything. For Doctor Who, it contains things that are relevant till the end of Season 2. For Sherlock, there's really nothing to spoil, but for Merlin, it has content relevant to the end of Season 1. There's nothing else my weirdness has to say, so good day and happy reading! (~w~) **_  
_

* * *

_One morning at the residence of Robert Singer – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

"Soooo… We have to destroy this 'Mother of All' thing with phoenix ash?" Dean was skeptical. "I didn't even think phoenixes were real."

"Well, it says it here." Bobby flipped through the pages of Samuel's book. "Better than nothin'."

"We should look for another reference," Sam said. "Just to be sure."

"Tell me again, why are we doing this?" Dean was more than agitated by now. All those books gave him a headache. Seriously, why couldn't they just have a solid answer?

"Maybe to save the world, Dean," Sam said with a tight smile. "Just in case you forget."

"Huh." Dean wonders why he even bothers. The world could save itself, for all he cared.

He scanned the shelves upon shelves of books. His gaze fell over Samuel Colt's diary. It was a leathery thing, old, of course. Dean took it off the shelf and read the first few pages. _Huh. Looks like Colt wasn't so boring after all_, he thought as he mused over the pages. He flipped through a section, skimming to save time. His eyes stopped on an entry from March 5th, 1861. Something about shooting a phoenix and smoldering ash.

"Hey, guys, I found it!" Dean showed them the excerpt from the diary.

"So… We have to go back in time to get this phoenix ash?" Sam stared down at the page.

"Seems like it," Bobby said while tossing a beer to each of them.

"Well, time to call Cas, then." Dean looked up at the ceiling. "Cas, we, uh, got something down here. So, could you come down, maybe? We need your help."

There was an awkward moment of silence.

"Cas?"

"This isn't right."

"Whoa, Cas!" Dean turned around to find Castiel with a serious and worried expression about him. "What's wrong?"

"This… This isn't supposed to be happening. There's been a disturbance in the timeline. None of this was truly the way it was before…" Castiel stared at his surroundings with both awe and terror.

"Um… Cas? Earth to Cas. Hello?" Dean waved his hand in front of Castiel's face.

"That isn't supposed to happen," Castiel said suddenly, causing Dean to jump slightly in surprise. Well, _slightly_…

"Cas! WILL you stop that!?"

Castiel turned and tilted his head in confusion, first at Dean, then at his surroundings. His eyes held doubt and suspicion on everything. His stare fell back onto Dean, a fierce scrutiny at work, analyzing every possible correlation. But, of course, he found none.

"Cas?" Dean was, again, very agitated. The waiting-for-the-angel-to-explain-everything part was especially annoying, seeing as he wasn't explaining it at all. Patience was not Dean's strong suit at this particular moment. "Cas!"

"…What is it you called me for?" Castiel said with an absent tone.

"Well, uh, we need to go on a time traveling crusade, so… Could you take us?"

"I don't think it would be safe," Castiel murmured, more to himself than anyone. "There's… a bit of a problem. I can't seem to track it down. Maybe later."

"What? Cas, come on. We need to go back to get some phoenix ash from March 5th, 1861, so maybe you could help here?" Dean was ready to get down to it. Not just sit there doing nothing.

"You don't understand, Dean. It could be dangerous, crossing through random time like that. There's been a disturbance somewhere here already. This that's happening now – this conversation, this whole scene – it's not supposed to happen like this. I'm supposed to follow as you say, agree. Yet here I am, discussing this with you."

"Maybe it's a paradox and it's supposed to be like this?" Sam had joined in the conversation.

"Maybe," Castiel went back to inspecting the room, "but probably not."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, Cas, you see, the problem here is that we _need_ that phoenix ash to kill this… 'Mother of All' thing. It's the only thing we got. We have to try… Even if the world could save itself for all I care."

Castiel looked trapped, afraid. He wanted to protect them. He didn't want to put his friends in danger. "Fine. I'll go with you."

"What!? No, no. Remember last time you time traveled? You half _died_."

"If I don't go with you, _you_ will die."

"…Huh. Such an optimist, aren't you, Cas? So glad you believe in us. We won't die." Dean paused to think a second. "Promise."

"It's not that I don't believe in you, it's just that… I might not even be able to land you in the right century, not to say a specific date! If this fails, it might get you both killed. I don't want your blood spilt on my hands for the rest of eternity!"

Dean sighed and, again, rolled his eyes. "You can always get us something to bring our lovely presences back. We'll be fine."

Castiel looked miserable. "I can't."

"…What do you mean you can't? You always can." _Now_ Dean was beginning to worry. Just the slightest bit.

"Your souls will be scattered throughout Heaven, Earth, Hell, and even Purgatory thrice over. _Nothing_ has the power to retrieve the remnants of such destruction. Not even God."

After contemplating it "thrice over", Dean said, "Fine. You can come with us. But if anytime you want to back out, be my guest. I don't want… your blood spilt on my hands."

"Don't keep your hopes up." Castiel laid down his angel blade and focused on it. It began to radiate a silver light, turning into dull copper, then gold. When it stopped glowing, it was a shade of black, but not so dark. More like a moonlit sky. "This will protect us in the event we land in the wrong century. We can call out other angels with it."

"Oooooook. I think we can try to land on the correct date." Dean picked up the blade. "Now _this_… is a beauty."

"Hold on to that. We'll need it." Castiel grabbed both Dean and Sam, concentrating on the swirling sense of time. Unlike all other encounters with the tunnel, which was fluid-like – usually –, he saw it wavering, like a choppy, uncertain child.

And there were holes. So many holes. He tried. The angel truly tried. But suddenly, he was powerless, sucked in by one particular hole, blue. A familiar shade of blue.

The last thing Castiel thought before darkness descended upon him: _I'm sorry._


	3. Chapter 3

_That same cold, thunder-storming evening in London – Baker Street_

Sherlock slammed the door behind him as he ran out into the street. He immediately became more sophisticated and elegant looking – or, at least, acting so. He stopped when he got off the front steps, and stood, admiring the blue box. _Telephone Booth_, he corrected himself,_ God, they're brainwashing you, Sherlock._

The door to the telephone booth opened.

Sherlock was quite taken aback at the mechanism. Of course, it wasn't such an amazing stunt it pulled off, opening a door. _Could be a spring somewhere, automatically controlled. Probably made to impress. _He strolled leisurely towards the telephone booth. _But in truth, how am I to fit in there? How is anything to fit in there? There must be a person in there. Why are they here? This object is surely a curious one. How do they even have possession of it?_

He reached the telephone booth and stood in front of it. He was hesitate to enter, but he took a breath and stepped into the blue telephone booth.

Of course, Sherlock was astounded by the sight – ooooooof a very huge machine contained within a small telephone booth and how in all measures and dimensions did not work whatsoever but here it was. Sherlock exhaled as he finished his mental note. _I have to stop being so repetitive. Telephone booth. And all those times I said there in my questions. Repetition is a sign of weakness. You cannot let it show._

"Good sir, would you do me the favor of telling me where I am?"

Sherlock's gaze strayed downward towards the man's voice. He knew from the voice it was a man. Or a man of sorts. _Your repetition, Sherlock Holmes._

"I'm sorry, I'm so intrusive. I'm the Doctor. I've landed here for some reason. You see, I found this-"

"Are you from around here?" Sherlock felt the nagging sensation that _he_ was being intrusive. Then again, he was a high-functioning sociopath.

The Doctor blinked. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not from here."

"…Are you an alien?"

"Well… You seem to be taking that quite well."

"What do you know about time?"

"…Why…quite a lot." The Doctor looked at Sherlock with the most fascinated expression.

"What is this…mechanism?"

"She's more of a machine than a mechanism, a TARDIS. Time And Relative Di-"

"-mension In Space." Sherlock began stealing glances at it again, unable to contain himself like a five-year-old child.

"Yes. Yes, how did you know that?" The Doctor was concerned as to why this man knew so much about him.

"I've been studying you…Doctor. You don't seem to know how to hide from the public eye. Or do you not care for it?" Sherlock continued. "I notice you seem very protective of this machine of yours, and you are very lost, heartbroken probably, but also physically lost. You have the eyes of a man who has seen too much. You do not know what to do now, and all you truly _do_ know at the moment is that you have no idea what you're doing."

"Yes… That's all true, and I don't know what I'm doing, but, would you be so kind as to tell me the location?"

"London."

"Ah. The year, too, if you don't mind?"

"2012."

"Oh. Good. And what is your name, sir?"

"What is yours?"

"John Smith."

"That's not your name."

"…I am the Doctor, and that is all I can tell you."

"But you must have a proper name."

"Mm. Just the Doctor."

Sherlock decided to stop pressing him for answers, even though he was dying for some straight ones. "…My name," He dropped his eyes back onto the Doctor. ", is Sherlock Holmes."

The Doctor, once again, blinked. "Sherlock Holmes?" He looked around, then settled his eyes on a metallic top, sitting on the floor. He went to pick it up, then brought it back to Sherlock. "Then this must be… a universe-thingiemahoper…thing. It should be more advanced than a mere top. Perhaps…something more sophisticated, like a TARDIS. Hm."

Sherlock was hopelessly confused. "You know me? But you're not even from this planet…supposedly."

"No, but I did enjoy the books. I also met Sir Arthur Conan Doyle myself! He was an extraordinary man, really. Sure knew a lot about armor. Then again, he was a knight. Too bad he couldn't see these extraordinary devices. They have such mechanisms to make you ponder on what it was or whatnot and how everything is just a bunch of squiggly lines and metallic tubes."

"What?"

The Doctor glanced at Sherlock before returning back to his inspection of the top. "You see, Mr. Holmes, there are separate universes, some maybe coherent to others, others that will stand alone. Then there is one _true_ universe, one with normality, where you and I are merely…fictional. In the true universe, no one would see me. I would be invisible. That would never happen in any other universe. There, I would be a telly program and you a book. Speaking of which, do you know Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock was too stunned for words. Just as well, because, in the next second, John burst into the TARDIS with a shotgun at the ready.

"Ah, Dr. Watson! So glad I could make your acquaintance." The Doctor smiled and reached out to shake John's hand.

John stared, first at the Doctor, then at Sherlock. He gave John a shrug. John reluctantly put away his gun and shook the stranger's hand gingerly.

"I'm the Doctor, and I'm not from this planet, or this universe, for that matter. I found a universe-thingiemahoper thing and I now think it attracts me to different important ideas in each universe – for example, you, Sherlock Holmes, you are the main character of this universe. It revolves around your adventures with Dr. Watson. You are the basis for this universe!"

"Well, don't make his head any bigger," John said as he stared at the Doctor. "So… You're an alien? But you look human."

"No, you look Time Lord. Time Lords came first. From the planet Gallifrey. We will regenerate when needed. Which…isn't as pleasant as it sounds."

"You'd have to watch all your friends die." John wore a distant expression.

"…Yes. I believe you would understand, Dr. Watson."

The silence was quite deafening in the TARDIS as Sherlock and John processed who this man was, while the Doctor studied the new top toy he had acquired from… somewhere. Most likely off the ground after a disorienting adventure. He must have brought it back to the TARDIS, then spun it because… that's what tops do. They were rotating, centrifugal…thingamajigs. The next thing he knew, he was in Cardiff, then London. Some fifteen hours later, he was transported in front of Baker Street, and watched as a drenched man ran into the cover of 221B Baker Street.

All was quiet inside the TARDIS as the moon began to shine through the clouds of a cleared night sky.


	4. Chapter 4

_A now cleared evening in London – The TARDIS, Baker Street_

Castiel landed on his face – hard.

He opened his eyes and dragged himself up. He tried to clear his head, but wherever he landed, it was much too bright. He couldn't see a thing. Then he remembered.

"Dean?" He was panicking. "Sam? DEAN!"

Castiel turned around and saw them laying on the ground, sprawled out and looking completely helpless. He scrambled towards them, checking their pulses. Fortunately, they were fine, and he relaxed the slightest bit. Which, of course, didn't last very long.

"Now, who do we have here?"

Castiel spun towards the voice, tripping in the process. He looked up frantically and saw three figures, two of them human, but not the other. The other was…

"Please, do tell me how you landed in my TARDIS. You seem…familiar." The Doctor stood over the strange creature.

"…I…" Castiel squinted, trying to see through the murky light. "…I am an angel of the lord."

The Doctor froze. "Nobody…move. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead."

John and Sherlock looked at each other. They still didn't understand what was happening, what with the Doctor and random people appearing in a dimensionally impossible police telephone booth.

Castiel, on the other hand, understood perfectly well what was happening. He just had to make sure it was what he thought it was…and all the rest. He'd finally cleared his head, and he saw the Doctor. His appearance had changed, but Castiel knew he was the same person…or…whatever.

The Doctor continued staring. "Why aren't you turning into stone? Why _aren't_ you stone? How are you male? How can you talk? Are you a mutated species? What are you doing in my TARDIS? How did you get here? Did you evolve into teleportation-capable creatures? Tell me!" He said all that without blinking once.

"…My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord. And… I remember you. You're… the Doctor. When I searched the world and other universes, I saw your machinery in many different places, and centuries as well. Is it a time machine?"

"…What?" The Doctor looked at Castiel with little more than suspicion.

"Ahe-hem." Sherlock cleared his throat noisily. "Can we have some explanation here?"

Of course not, because, as if it weren't chaotic enough, Sam had woken up, drowsy and off-centered, followed by Dean with an irritated expression. They were both momentarily blinded by the harsh light of the TARDIS. When they could see again, they were grasped with a sense of adrenaline when they saw that they were not alone in that glistening…mechanical…thing.

"Cas?" Dean's eyes darted from the Doctor to Sherlock to John to Castiel and then to Sam. "_What_ are we doing here? Last I checked, the 1800's didn't have computers."

"You were traveling to the 1800's? That's brilliant! What century are you from? The 51st? 55th?" The Doctor brightened up to the new arrivals just then, because, from what he could see, they were potentially harmless and friendly.

Of course, Sam _had_ to pull out a gun just then. While Dean followed suit, of course. There wasn't any pointing done to anyone, but that didn't mean the presence of the guns were calming.

The Doctor pulled a face. "So many guns."

"Dean, I really think it unnecessary for guns to get involved with this situation," Castiel said to reassure the pair.

They cautiously tucked their guns away, standing up slowly as if they would be attacked at any moment.

The Doctor cheered up and went across the control board of the TARDIS, opening a slot to their left. "Right now, weapons in the slot, if all of you plan to travel in the TARDIS with me."

"Who said we're traveling with you? What's a TARDIS?" Dean perked up with an agitated voice. "Why do you all have accents? And _what_ are you going to do with my gun?"

"Mm, incinerate it."

"_What?_"

"I need order here and you're not exactly orderly when you point a gun at my face."

"I wasn't pointing anything at your face."

"Well…You were going to point it sooner or later."

"Dean, stop arguing with him," Castiel said as he tried to break the awkward tension between the Doctor and Dean.

"We need to get that phoenix ash or else we won't be able to get back in time and defeat that Mother of All thing!" Sam looked panicked and weary and just not in the mood to be fooled around with at this point.

Dean suddenly thought of a harsh and frightening situation, and couldn't help but to suck in his breath with pained worry. "Cas… If we didn't land in the right time… Are we in the future or…?"

"Oh, no, you're in a different universe all together. No worries about that possibly very dull life of yours." The Doctor smiled. He was so optimistic that Dean couldn't help but pity him. Probably never even fought a demon. _No,_ he corrected himself, _he _definitely_ did not ever fight a demon. Wait, did he just say we're in another universe?_

The Doctor messed with the control board frantically. "Now… Let me just turn on the alternate carburetor chamber and insert this thingamajig so we could get to another universe… Maybe we can control the coordinates and…" The TARDIS jerked violently and Dean, Sam, Castiel, and John were thrown onto the floor – while Sherlock got flung down the ramp and slammed against the door. "Well… Maybe not. It looks like it goes randomly without coordinates. Hm. Probably random in a specific order." The Doctor continued pushing buttons and pulling levers, unscathed by the shake of the TARDIS.

"Did you say we're in another _universe_?" Dean asked the Doctor while trying to clear his pounding head.

"Hmm…? Oh, that. Yes. You're in a different universe."

"…And?"

The Doctor glanced at Dean briefly before concentrating on the control panel again. "And what? You're in another universe, possibly because you were time traveling and something went wrong, and you ended up here…" The Doctor pulled one final lever, and the TARDIS stabilized. He looked at Dean with a questioning gaze. "But why did you land in my TARDIS?"

"There were holes in the time vortex. One of them was blue, like your machinery. I was pulled towards it against my will." Castiel now wore suspicion on his face.

The Doctor didn't notice. Instead, he took the top out of the carburetor and studied it again. It had turned from a metallic silver to pure gold – and not just in color. It _was_ gold, from the soft texture of it. The Doctor scanned it with his sonic screwdriver, but there were no readings, and then... Well, the screwdriver melted. The Doctor recoiled his hand away from the suddenly very hot, lump of liquid metal. It fell to the floor with a hissing thump, already solid, not two inches from where Sam was standing. He quickly backed away from the steaming clump.

"What?!" The Doctor was in disbelief. "What?! That… That's not possible, that…" He picked up the disfigured piece of screwdriver. "…WHAT?!"

He looked at it with a sense of sadness. "…I love my screwdriver."

The Doctor went over to the slot that he'd opened before and gently slid the metal down. There was a sizzling sound, and he walked back slowly to the control panel, staring blankly at it.

"…NOW then, beyond those doors can be anywhere in space and time and maybe not even in the same universe as yours. I set the TARDIS to random, and with that thingamabober's help, it goes through so many options. It could be a planet in the outer stretches of the Andromeda galaxy or the Spatial Intergalactic Void and Laboratory of the Tenth Dimension, otherwise known as the SIV and Sorts. Or we could be in the 13th century, full medieval experience, anything you could ever want in a castle, and no terribly lethal weapons, which is always a bonus, or rather, in the future, the year 159,265, when the first nine digits of pi is spelled out on March 14th, 159,265, 3.14159265. Now THAT…" The Doctor walked towards the TARDIS door. "…is what is called amazing."

The rest stared with awe.

Of course, this was just a small interference with their daily routines, which were all exciting, wonderful, yet stuck, trapped in their own little bubble. All of them knew somehow that with the Doctor, they could escape from their own worries and responsibilities, and for once be the peasant instead of the king.


	5. Chapter 5

_An unknown sky, in an unknown place, in an unknown time – The TARDIS_

The sextet stayed in the TARDIS silently for a minute or two. The Doctor's majestic description of the adventures beyond left them in utter disbelief. The trio of Team Free Will had never before been this excited by the mere mention of peculiar, unearthly happenings. The consulting detective and his partner, however, had their senses left back on Baker Street, having not the slightest idea what was happening, yet still delighted nonetheless. Who wouldn't be? The turmoil of this wonderful mess didn't seem to be showing itself yet, and they all knew to enjoy it while it lasted.

While the quintet bubbled in their joy, the Doctor alone drowned in his grief.

There was no need for it, no need at all, but the Doctor felt a strong urge to invent a need for it. Name giving. It created order – as well as intimacy. "...Well, then. Maybe we should… give names. I'm the Doctor, just the Doctor, really, really just the Doctor. You can call me the Doctor, calling me anything else is quite ridiculous. I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey, the last of my kind. I have a TARDIS, I… borrowed her, with the intention of giving her back. However, now that Gallifrey is… non-existent, she is, technically, mine. We travel the length of space and time together, occasionally bumping into trouble and sometimes saving the human race, quite a lot of times, actually. Now, enough about me, you all know what you need to know. The one with the trench coat, carry on."

Castiel tried to protest. "It's not a trench-"

"Come on, I had to differentiate. That gentlemen over there's wearing a long coat, _you'r_e wearing a long coat, I couldn't have just said long coat, you'd probably start fighting over who's the one with the long coat and then it's just ridiculous because you're both wearing long coats and then I saw that yours was slightly similar to a trench coat and so I differentiated but obviously your species is very specific on specific things that don't exactly need to be specified and you just had to interrupt and argue that it wasn't a trench coat!" The Doctor spit out his words with slightly more interest than a cow chewing grass for all eternity.

"…I apologize for that sudden outburst." He apologized after a minute of awkward silence following his sudden outburst.

"… Now… Back to names and introductions. The one with the trench coat, please, carry on."

Castiel felt a surprising amount of obedience towards this man…or…Time Lord. "…My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord. I rebelled against Heaven for a good cause, and together with my…accomplices…we prevented the apocalypse in our universe. But now, after Michael and Lucifer are both locked in the Cage, Raphael has taken over Heaven and wishes me to bow down to him. It might be unwise to disagree with him, but, yet again, I rebelled, because I had to help my…friends." There was a strange texture of that word on Castiel's tongue, like the sweetness of honey-lemon tea, with a tang of unexpected emotion.

The Doctor was intrigued. "So you're an angel? A _real_ angel, not those quantum-locked, not-really-alive weeping angels? The ones with wings and flappymathingies? Or do you not really have wings?"

"I have wings, except you won't be able to sense them because of your…limitations."

"Limitations? I can fly through time and space and you say I have limitations!?"

"I…I didn't mean it in an offensive way, if you took it like that…"

"…No, I'm sorry… But if you do have time, you must tell me how you travel and if your wings serve more purpose than being wings. Do they have a conjoiner somewhere where it can hold itself and be whatever it is, or do you just have incredibly well-developed bone-structure without the incredibly hasty nonsense of stereotypical wings, OR do you have mechanically controlled wings that have a certain C-type generator in which you can bend space-time and still fly through because of the transmittable A-generator's feed and the B-generator's control panel in which the process of the Orcan displacer reaches maximum capacity in-ordering you to complete processes more complex than the ones before-"

"Doctor." Castiel was very lost. "This is a vessel."

"…Oh." The Doctor was, as well, quite lost himself. "…Well, in that case, I suppose they're just wings for the showing power of the angels and occasionally for descending to Earth to create elaborate miracles?"

"…Just for branding as angels. There's, also, a halo, but, um…that's, that's also for distinction. Sometimes a show of power, perhaps. We do occasionally descend and perform miracles, but…not to the help of the wings."

"…Well… I'm glad _that's _cleared up. Why don't we continue to the one with the pretty gun?"

Dean fumed – if not a bit unreasonably. "…_Pretty_?"

"Well…yes. If anything, that pearl handle is beautiful! Shame it's used for a weapon, but that doesn't mean it's not beautiful. Isn't it beautiful? It is, isn't it. A beautiful piece of weaponry that has obviously fallen into the hands of a very ungrateful owner… Anyways, name."

Dean stared at the man with the striped suit and wondered how he ever got here. "My name is Dean Winchester, we hunt monsters and other things that try to kill people, and that is pretty much my life, which I don't exactly want to explain to people I don't know and just met."

"_Dean_." Castiel gave Dean a nudging look – with a slight slip of annoyance.

Dean rolled his eyes and wished there wasn't an angel in the room. "We…we deal with demons and angels and all those things that are not supposed to be alive but are. I sold my soul to a demon once, and then I died after a year, and I went to Hell. Then this angel here pulled me out and back. Then one time I died again, and I went to Heaven. But, for some reason, I wasn't supposed to die, so I got brought back down. And now I'm here to try and save the world, and yet I still don't get appreciated."

"…Do you want appreciation?" The Doctor felt Dean needed some. But in an indirect, more noble way.

"…Sometimes. When everything I do is screwed up and nothing wants to unwrap itself for me."

The Doctor understood. Of course he did. Was he not the same? "…Well, onto the big moose."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Yes, you, the big moose. Really, with your plaid shirt and the pants and the hair and the height, all you're missing are the antlers."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "That's what Crowley calls me." Sam seemed concerned – and, of course, suspicious.

"Crowley? Who's Crowley? Mind you, I had an acquaintance whose name was Crowley, back in 1862. He fought in the American Civil War. Great warrior, really. I gave him a TARDIS key for good luck the day before a big battle. Unfortunately, he got blasted by a cannonball. My key was returned some time later. Never knew how… Sorry, go on."

Sam didn't want to expose himself to random people. Then came the glare from Castiel, which Sam wanted to ignore, but couldn't. "…My name is Sam Winchester. I'm Dean's brother, and we fight monsters and things that go bump in the night. Dean sold his soul for me, because…I died. Then we both died again, and yes, we went to Heaven, then didn't die. I also started the apocalypse by opening Lucifer's Cage…unintentionally, if you were thinking otherwise. Then we stopped the apocalypse, and now we're dealing with other stuff, like Crowley, who insists he's the King of Hell, so… That pretty much rounds up the three of us."

"Hm. Very interesting." The Doctor turned to Sherlock. "Now, onto the one with the _long_ coat." He looked in Castiel's direction as if to prove his point.

It was silent for quite a while. Then John cleared his throat and nudged the one with the long coat.

Sherlock turned and gave John a face of annoyance and questioning, until he realized the obvious and expressed one of understanding and slight embarrassment.

He turned towards the quartet of the logically impossible, and thought carefully what to say. But, of course, time wasn't exactly intact in his mind, and at least a minute passed before Dean was smoked and exhausted and wanted to shoot something. "Can we carry on?"

"I was trying to manipulate the word formation as well as how to deduct your awful sense of patience."

"Strike one, Sherlock. I don't have an awful sense of patience. I don't have patience."

And the Doctor stared. With raised eyebrows. And a smile. And a slight laugh. While John had his mouth open with the thought of having to work with someone who could deduct names. Which was, in his mind, horrifying.

Sherlock, however, decided to continue with his introduction, as he could care less at this moment if Dean Winchester could or could not deduct names.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'm a consulting detective. I solve crimes and murders for Scotland Yard because their force is usually very idiotic and has no taste for the completely obvious. My deduction skills are extravagant, so no point trying to hide anything from me."

Team Free Will was on the verge of mental collapse – or, more accurately, the start of the total exposure to awesomeness they needed. "You…You're…Sherlock Holmes? _The _Sherlock Holmes? The detective in the books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" Sam, as the only one in the group with a real adoration of books, went forth and grabbed Sherlock's hand, shaking it vigorously for at least twenty seconds, while the detective himself drew every ounce of strength in his body to escape the bone-crushing handshake. Alas, he was merely a detective – not the strongest man in the world.

"Will…will you please let go now," Sherlock said between clenched teeth, those of which suppressed the pain for him.

"Oh…I'm sorry, yes, of course." Sam, beaming with pure admiration, backed away from the man named Sherlock Holmes, and returned to his place beside Dean, who stared at Sam with a poisoning glance. The moose just shrugged.

Castiel was, nonetheless, ever the skeptical one. "I think proof of person is needed in this situation."

Sherlock looked up from his now bruising hand, and internally sighed at the complete idiocy of the universe – or universes.

"Castiel. He has a rebellious nature with a tendency to care for things he shouldn't, but not with extreme emotional outtake so as to express his feelings to anyone. He always wears the same outfit even though he could change it at any time because he wants to distinguish himself from the others, more casually formal than formally casual, which sometimes makes others question him. However, he takes these comments in and tries to process them with more meaning than they actually hold, which causes him worry and makes himself doubt whether or not he is doing the right thing. And at the moment, he has a secret which he probably does not want to share with anyone in particular." The deduced angel was quiet, while the man with the long coat soaked in his triumph.

"Dean Winchester, a broken, hardened man who has seen things he wished never existed, yet he wouldn't be able to imagine a life without insanity, for that is a portion of what keeps him sane. The other part is his brother, which he feels responsible for no matter the situation, and who he would die for and probably die without. Of course, admitting this in daily conversation is impossible for him because he would feel violated and disgraced despite the great honor he feels carrying this burden."

"Hey, watch it. I've got a pretty gun," Dean purred out in a most unlikely fashion – to the detective's eyes, anyway.

"Sam Winchester, the little brother who wanted to escape and make his own world. You're the one who could live without insanity, but not without why it's there. You're intelligent in the way one is when they try to make sense of something they don't want to make sense of. You try different things, but you always seem to be restrained – running from your past instead of pushing towards your future." Sherlock paused and thought a moment. "I, perhaps, am very much the same. Except I don't dwell on things I wish had not happened. I move forwards and out while you went backwards and in. I may be the unfortunate one, but you – you will always be the tamed storm, wishing to be free once again."

He stopped at that, waiting for a response from someone, but there was none. "…Well. I think that is well enough for a proof of person."

"Yes, yes. Now, the last person. Who, perhaps, is probably the most important person in this TARDIS. Although, we are all equally important, mind you." The Doctor sat down in his chair beside the control panel, waiting for the finale to speak.

John was at a loss for words.

Clearly this was a dream, and sometime he would eventually wake up and everything would be completely the way it was before. In truth, he didn't, couldn't, and most importantly, wouldn't believe his own theory – all with good reason, of course.

"Not the waiting again. And don't tell me you're Watson." Dean, again, rudely intervened and had no intention of apologizing.

"It's…Dr. Watson, actually."

Dean stared in defeat at the pair of detectives and decided to give up sarcasm on this trip – just for a while.

"I'm John Watson, colleague and, hopefully, friend to Sherlock. He said the part about us solving crimes with Scotland Yard, and…that's pretty much it." John was quiet for a while before he said the last part. "We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he loses his pants."

This is what caused the breaking of the awkward tension in the TARDIS and turned it into a loud laughter hall, accompanied by the sound of the controls and the hum of the machinery.

After their episode, the six settled – or collapsed – on the floor of the TARDIS, tired and worn from a long instance of standing.

The Doctor admired the gateway in which anything was possible, the opening of which all could be combined, and he realized, for the umpteenth time, that it belonged to him.

"Well, then. All done exploding?" The Doctor stood and strolled to the exit. "Because I want to open this door." He turned around and looked at the five incredible people sitting on the floor. _His _floor, technically speaking. The floor that belonged to him and time and space. "And open I shall."

He twirled to face the entryway to a new universe, and pushed open the doors to green.

* * *

**Hello, wonderful people who take time to read this! I've decided to post new chapters on either Wednesdays, Fridays, or Sundays. I sometimes go into this state of _I-would-prefer-to-be-left-alone-and-not-write-at-all_, in which case I will probably not post anything for one and a half weeks. But I promise that this state will not control me in any way, and the most you will ever have to wait is one and a half weeks. Please review! PM me if you'd like, I love random messages at midnight, keeps me awake and alert! You can also be very negative, if that is your desire. I myself specialize in the criticism of myself, as well as the criticism of my dear friend, BookAddict67, who insists her writing is awful. Let me tell you, she is just too awesome to describe in the correct terms. Please visit her stories! Good day. (-w-) **


	6. Chapter 6

**I'M SO SORRY, I'M SUCH AN IDIOT. I FORGOT TO UPDATE. WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD FORGET TO UPDATE?! ME, OBVIOUSLY.**

**I am sincerely sorry. I will post a new chapter _this Friday _to make it up to people. You're all too awesome for my stupidity... Seriously, HOW could I forget to update?! **

**Well, I've said quite enough and I am distracting your reading experience... Please, do continue. (~w~)**

* * *

_A clear morning sky in Camelot – the Forest_

The thick, lush trees garnishing the TARDIS blocked the Doctor and his fellow companions from seeing anything more than a tree trunk. Nevertheless, they were too giddy to think about little distractions like that.

Until they had to get out of the infinite space of the blue box and fall into the vastly limited world. Of course, _then_ there was a problem.

"Stop pushing me," Dean grunted in annoyance to the pair of detectives behind him.

"Well, if you moved…" Sherlock countered with a much obliged push.

"Stop squirming, Dean," Sam suggested with a tight head turn.

A barely audible, very minute voice came out from under Sam's arm. "Um…Sam…Do you think maybe you could…Stop wedging me down?" Castiel struggled under the weight of Sam's heavy limb and pondered how much of this his vessel could take.

"Sorry, Cas. I can't move. Hang in there." Sam glanced back at the impending group as Castiel shrank to the most comfortable position he could muster.

"EVERYBODY STOP MOVING!" The Doctor was trying his best not to have his face squished against the very thick and possibly prickly trunk, spreading both arms out across the TARDIS door. And everyone listened – if all for but a second or so.

"LISTEN TO THE MAN WITH THE BLUE BOX!" And, naturally, everyone listened, mostly because they didn't know the source of the command, which was Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers – formally.

"…It's…a telephone booth." Sherlock. Always there to cut the awkward silence with a chainsaw instead of a nice, old pair of scissors.

"Yes, well, listen to the smart man with a brain." The Doctor was momentarily saved from the impending trunk of the tree, and was very grateful for that.

Whilst everyone squeezed in their bodily meat suits, another event was happening not 500 steps away from all this commotion.

The Doctor managed to turn around without being annihilated by the group. "I suggest we all move back instead of out, since obviously this will not work."

The problem was that Sherlock, at the end of the huddle, was stuck, due to his size and extremely uncanny, yet patronizing, scarf.

So they were fixed for quite a while before John managed to pry the fabric from the railing of the TARDIS. They all quickly scuttled backwards to the control panel, Dean with an eye roll, Castiel with relief, and Sam with an ache in every bone in his body. The Baker Street pair were pushed all the way to the other side of the pane, Sherlock rubbing his arm, John wanting to shoot something – which wasn't quite normal, but he had a gun, so…might as well have. Except he didn't. Of course not. No.

The Doctor pulled both doors of the TARDIS closed behind him, sinking slightly with the awkward suspense of battling his fear of tree trunks. _No, I'm not afraid of tree trunks, just the doom of getting rubbed against one. No offense to Forests or Trees, but I'd rather not cuddle right now. Busy._

The Time Lord crossed over to the controls and altered the coordinates slightly so they wouldn't land right outside a large plant. His motives were meant for well, but of course, he landed in yet another no exit area. Frustrated, he modified the location with a bang, opening the doors without a thought. Surprisingly, it worked, and they were at a clearing with a lake. With a person. With a sword.

No surprise _there_.

The…boy, it seemed, had his back turned on the TARDIS, weapon in hand, apparently staring at the lake.

But of course, his name was Merlin, and he was there for a reason, contemplating the fate of the cursed blade he held in his hand. Then the rustle of trees startled him such that he swung the sword full ways away, not thinking what could or could not be there in its path.

The Doctor had led the choppy way out of the thick brush, followed by Sam, Dean, John, Sherlock, and one quite irritated Castiel, who couldn't see through the murk this place presented him, both physically and angelically. He tried to catch up to his friends so he could feel more secure, but he was slow when it came to strength and stamina tests.

Merlin had been hopelessly, utterly confused, but also a bit more terrified than anything. He was one sorcerer against six oddly-dressing, intimidating, quite interesting men. They could've been knights – seeing if they didn't plunder and rob from innocent people. _They're going to kill me_, he thought as he gripped the sword with nervous, sweating palms. _Then again, I could use magic, but then _I'd_ have to kill them._ No. The killing wasn't an option. Nor was it ever. So the young sorcerer decided to face these men with the last remaining bit of his bravery and valor. _Valor_, he mused. _As if I had much to begin with._

But the group didn't seem to be hiding any crude weapons. Nonetheless, Merlin was careful not to be deceived by looks. He waited quite patiently for the charade to arrive, fidgeting awkwardly in the glare of the descending sun, wondering what this would come down to. That's when the strange leading man spoke.

"Um, hello there. Do you happen to have the date and place? We're sort of lost…among other things."

Merlin was careful not to answer the man just yet. He wanted to make sure he didn't give himself away to these strange strangers.

The group strode leisurely towards him, making _him_ feel like the intruder rather than the other way around. _I _am_ the one holding the sword, I suppose…_

Finally, they met at the clearing, not two feet away from each other.

"Yes, hello, I'm the Doctor, this is Sam, Dean, John, Sherlock, and…" The Doctor waited patiently for Castiel to stumble out of the bushes. "…Castiel."

He smiled brightly to the boy that was holding a very sharp sword to his chest. Then, he was staring at the sword. "…Ah. I think we might have quite a misunderstanding… You see, we're new here, but I guess you already knew that, seeing as how we'd just appeared out of the shrubbery, but never mind that, you seem like a clever boy, what with your stature and whatnot, so, I'm just going to tell you straight off that we're time travelers from the year…um… That's complicated. We're from three different universes, thanks to my paramount little universal thingadingamabober, and we were just looking for adventure, and if you don't like us trespassing, it is perfectly fine to tell us to leave and we will do as you say." The Doctor smiled reassuringly at the slightly frightened looking young man, who still refused to speak.

"…Here. Why don't you tell us your name and we could sort this whole thing out with more…intimacy."

Merlin was confused. _Time travelers? What kind of magic do they have to perform _time_ travel? Is that even possible?_

He still held Excalibur in front of this strange…Doctor person. But he wasn't supposed to weld the sword. It was Arthur's place to hold. _What am I supposed to do? Just put it down?_

The Doctor caught a whiff of the metallic silkiness of the blade. He inspected the sword more carefully, swiping his finger across the edge, then putting it into his mouth, which earned a look of awkward disgust from everyone, including Merlin, who was now beginning to suspect that these people were absolutely insane, that he should run. Of course, whether it be from fear, curiosity, or stupidity, Merlin stayed to watch as the odd man with odd clothing and odd companions spoke again in that odd tone with that odd nonsense.

"Well… Seems normal enough for a sword blade… But it has that strange metallic tinge to it… I can't put my finger on it…"

"…You just put your finger on it." Dean, ever the sarcastic one, decided that sarcasm needed to be re-implanted into this trip. "And that metallic tinge? It's probably the metal."

"No, it's different, like that time on the planet Exabar, where the sword factory was. It smelled like…fire and metal and…kingly sweat."

"…What?"

"Ah… Well, they forged their swords out of a king's sweat. They only made one every generation, because it was hard to harvest so much sweat from one person. Each of their kings would get one sword, made from their own sweat, and they would use it for the rest of their life. Then the blacksmiths would melt the sword down into scrap metal after that king's reign, and begin preparing for the new king. They named all the swords one name, though… Excalibur, I think."

Dean blinked. "What, like _King Arthur_ Excalibur?!"

"Well, where do you think that comes from? A person's head? No! Obviously some refugee landed on Earth and told some guy about the sword, and he built King Arthur and Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table around it. Get it? Around…? No…? Whatever. The king's sweat was a substitute for dragon's breath. They used millennia to figure that out. Smart ones, those Exabarians."

Merlin was stunned and terrified and also a bit cold. It was getting too dark to be in the woods without anyone noticing. Those strange people just mentioned Arthur and himself, and the very sword he was holding. _They're going to kill me. Right? So shouldn't I be running now? _What _am I doing?_

_Too late, _Merlin thought as the Doctor turned to face him again.

"So… Right. Please, tell us your name, and we probably should hurry along after that, shouldn't we?" The strange man's face was almost apologetic, trustworthy. And Merlin trusted this stranger that was probably going to kill him. _Who do I trust? Do I trust all of them or just him? Why_ _do I trust _any_ of them? It better not be because they know Arthur and Excalibur and me. That would be strange and totally unexplainable. WHAT AM I DOING?!_

The group stared at the young man with no name and a sword, expecting an answer completely different from the truth.

"My name is…Merlin."


	7. Chapter 7

**Early chapter, as promised! (-w-)**

* * *

_The clearing at the lake, dusk falling - Camelot_

Silence. Most of the Doctor's time spent on adventure had been quite insightful, but all he saw now was chaos. Catastrophic chaos. Nothing could've compared to the destruction he thought he saw. But it wasn't fixed. Fortunately. Hopefully…

Silence. That was all anyone could express at this particular moment.

"…Yeah, and I'm Mufasa." Dean was irritated. He wasn't in the mood for this anymore. _Sherlock, Merlin? What is this? A well-played joke?_

"Hey, don't bad mouth Mufasa. He was quite nice."

"You know what? I'm done with this. You…crazy person with a time machine, who are you? Some pagan god messing with us or what?" Dean turned to gesture at the TARDIS to prove his point, only to find a blue police telephone booth. "…Did we just get out of that thing?"

"Yep," The Doctor said, voice full of pride.

Dean glared at the man with a much too happy disposition.

Merlin was not quite sure why he told them his name, why he felt a certain attractive trust towards this group of queer men. He felt it best to present these strangers to Uther. Or Arthur, as they had mentioned his name. Or whoever, really. He just was too confused to solve this by himself.

"Right, then. We should probably explain ourselves again. We're from another universe, traveled here by TARDIS, that blue thing there, and we were just passing through and are you really that Merlin with all that magic blublah and helper of the king and such and such?" The Doctor was intrigued by the young man before him. It wasn't every day you got to meet your favorite book characters. He'd even tried to go back to the 12th century to find Merlin and King Arthur, but there wasn't anyone there. There was an alien invasion from the planet Exabar, which the Doctor took care of, but there was no wizard or great king. The intruders accidently dropped an old king's sword down to Earth. It traveled at such high a speed that it landed into a stone. _Excalibur_ was carved into the blade of the weapon. The Time Lord saw to it so that no one discovered the sword in the stone. It would have completely destroyed the world in his foreseeable future, so he kept it in the TARDIS just for security.

_Which means there must be some kind of paradoxical thing here… _The Doctor pondered what would happen if this sword got into close proximity with that sword. _Ah…Best to keep them away from each other._

Merlin was no closer to any sort of answer.

_Don't speak, don't speak, don't be friendly, they could be anyone. _The warlock, however, internally sighed and gave in to his awfully kind nature.

"I'm…Prince Arthur's manservant." _Wait. Did he just say I have magic? Do they have magic? What? I knew I shouldn't have said anything…_

The Doctor was surprised. "…Oh. So, he's still the prince…Who's the king, may I ask?"

_Don't…Ugh._ "It's Uther Pendragon." Merlin decided to add one more comment. "He banned magic twenty years ago, if you didn't know…"

"What? Then how are you in Camelot?"

_He knows I have magic._ "I…don't have magic."

"What do you mean? You're Merlin, the greatest wizard of…ever?! Of course you have magic!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"NO. I. DON'T."

Merlin was terrified at this man who was so right and he himself who was so wrong. He gripped the sword tightly. He should have tossed it into the lake by now. It was getting too dark for comfort, and soon Arthur would need him to do something like bring him dinner and Gaius would make up some stupid excuse like, "He went to the tavern!" Really, that one was getting a little bit overused and ridiculous.

But right now, all Merlin cared about was to get out of this situation alive.

Sherlock analyzed the boy briefly before he said, "He has magic."

"Wha…? How do you know?" John, again, was much too fascinated at the detective's abilities.

"Tense eyebrows, nervous expression, repeated denial, sweaty palms, tightened grip, the works. He's obviously worried he'll be caught by the king or the prince or whoever because he believes we're not to be trusted, that we would carelessly tell others he has magic, yet he still talks to us because he feels a certain pull towards the unexplained and whatnot, so he decides to ignore his instinct and embrace his senses. Which are not always judged using his mind, more of his heart. A weakness, more of than anything."

The Doctor beamed. "Sherlock Holmes, where have been all my life?!"

"Apparently in a different universe."

"Yes, but other than that…Really, that was brilliant."

"Mere deduction, Doctor."

"No, no. Really. Just brilliant. In 900 years of time and space I've never met someone like you. Then again, people are all different, but still…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Could we get back to magic boy wizard here?"

Merlin froze. _I should've run. Now what?_

The Doctor and Dean went on to have a heated discussion about how some matters were to be discussed and some could wait.

Sam resisted the urge to yet again go up and violently, if adoringly, shake the warlock's hand. He remembered all those times Dean used to read Arthurian legends to him as a bedtime story, how King Arthur and The Knights of the Round Table would discuss important matters, and how Merlin, the wise wizard, would advise and guide Arthur in every way possible.

_What am I doing?_

Sam heard a voice in his head. He turned his head, looking around to see if there was someone behind him. There was no one. The voice only led him to Merlin.

_Why do I trust them? Seriously, I don't even know them. What if they're assassins and they want to kill Arthur?_

Sam stared at the Merlin, eyebrows furrowed. _Are you transmitting thoughts to me?_

Merlin jerked his head up, looking around frantically. His eyes rested on Sam.

_...You could hear what I'm thinking?_

Sam was surprised – and more than a bit terrified. In a good way. Sort of.

_Yeah, I could hear you… Do you know why? I don't think I ever did this before._

Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat. _So they all have magic._

_What? No, we don't have magic, it's more of a machine._

The young sorcerer jumped, forgetting that someone else could read his thoughts.

_...Sorry. That was intrusive._ Sam gave Merlin an apologetic smile. Then he heard something snap in his mind, and the connection was broken. He realized that an argument was still going on between the Time Lord and Dean. He glanced at the boy with the sword, giving him a confused look. Merlin seemed just as clueless.

Suddenly, there was a buzzing in Sam's head, blocking out everything and everyone. He was deaf. He couldn't feel anything. Then the noise subsided. But his hearing was still a murky murmur of voices. His eyesight went black. It felt like he was drowning in a pool of nothingness.

He could hear again. There was a loud, sonic blast that broke through the dismal waters. He heard his name, but perhaps it was just a whisper.

Dean ran to where Sam had collapsed, ears covered, in a fetal position. He was lying on his back now, gasping every breath, eyes wide open, glimmering eyes.

Sam heard a voice, Dean probably, calling him, definitely calling his name. But he was too far away. And Sam couldn't reach.

On the surface, Dean kept yelling, kept trying. But of course, he, too, was too far away. And he knew that all too well. But he didn't care. All he could think of was a name.

"Sammy!"

And all he could do was scream.


	8. Chapter 8

_A dark, harsh midnight – Camelot_

Castiel was concerned.

Sam's condition was alarmingly awful, but when the angel tried to help him, it came to no avail.

"Cas, come on, work your angel mojo on him!" Dean was desperately pleading with Castiel, and the look on his face wasn't of the calm and collected kind.

"Well, um, if you have the angel blade, I could turn it into a transmitter, in case my powers don't have a direct impact on Sam."

Dean fumbled through the odds and ends of his pockets, inside and out, but came up with nothing. He looked up at Castiel, shaking his head in defeat.

The angel furrowed his eyebrows. "…You don't have it?"

"…It's probably in that thing we landed in…"

"No, I didn't see anything." The Doctor strolled closer to the TARDIS. "If you were traveling through the time vortex bare, it's very likely you dropped it along re-entry, especially through different universes. If you'd held onto it, it's very likely your atoms would be split into a million, million pieces, and you would be non-existent because of the power needed to pull you into another universe. If you had, say, a TARDIS, you would be safely manipulating the time-vortex, allowing you to pull through without so much as a scratch-"

"Yeah, I get it, loudmouth! I screwed up. Maybe you could stop gloating about it!"

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it after he saw Castiel's worried look.

Merlin was terrified.

These people had walked out of the bushes and suddenly one of them could communicate with him, then collapsed on the spot. What was he supposed to do? Tell them that he had a connection with this moose-like man before he collapsed? They would probably kill him right there and then.

John's doctorial instincts kicked in immediately after Castiel's work came to no conclusion. He took Sam's pulse, but was confused, so he checked again. He wasn't wrong. Or he was right but entirely wrong. One way or another, he was wrong. He had to be.

Sherlock noticed John's distress. "Did you make a diagnosis, Doctor?"

The intended joke wasn't very funny to a very troubled John.

He pulled Sherlock aside, hoping nobody noticed. "Sherlock." He looked back just to check. "He doesn't have a pulse."

Which was quite impossible, seeing the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest.

"…Did you check his heartbeat?"

"…No, but why doesn't he have a pulse?"

"Well…There are many ways to not have a pulse and still be alive and well."

"Yes, but that still doesn't explain why he doesn't have a pulse!"

Sherlock decided to keep quiet, seeing that he didn't really figure that part out himself either.

The Doctor noticed that his assembled group was quickly falling apart, drifting towards their own directions. He had been extremely proud of this quintet, but messing with time, of course, had its consequences. Now they were one man down and not 100 steps away from the TARDIS. They might as well go back to their respectable homes now, seeing as they probably wouldn't all make it out in one piece.

His gaze landed on Merlin, who had been either too scared to run, or too awed. Whatever the situation, he wasn't going off anywhere soon, so the Doctor decided to learn about this universe of his and the future King Arthur.

But before he could approach the young sorcerer, he came to a revelation – a very obvious one at that. _I am getting old. I don't even remember inter-universal travel laws anymore!_

"Dean Winchester, I know how to help your brother! And I should've thought of it ages ago but I've been a little rusty on that part of the travel manual…Anyhow, since this universe obviously revolves around King Arthur and has Merlin here as its axis, then we know that magic is a present power, which is good, because whoever has a significant amount of power in their own universe will have a new type of power here. However, it would be converted into the kind of power one would have or be born with in this present world. Castiel isn't powerless, he's probably stronger than anyone at this point! Except…Well." The Doctor turned on Merlin. "We know you're the strongest here with your magic and Arthur and is that Excalibur?!"

The sword in Merlin's hand felt sticky and uncomfortable, considering he held it for the whole day whilst talking to these strangers.

"Oh. My. Oh. Oh. OH." The Doctor paced around in obvious euphoria, hands to head, resisting the urge to jump up and down like a young one who just received a TARDIS. "That's why you're here! To do the thing with the thing which eventually leads to the thing and then you'll do the thing and then the King will be Arthur because of the thing! Brilliant!"

"…What?!" Dean was confused, irritated, and, to be honest, he felt betrayed. The man with the telephone booth had told him that he could save Sam, but of course, he insists on going on a rant about complete nonsense while his brother could potentially be dying.

"Okay, stop with the gibberish and tell me how to save Sam!"

"No, but this is the part when he throws the sword into the lake because it has a greater destiny and shouldn't be weld by anyone but Arthur himself! He flings it to the bottom of the lake, where it lays for, well, quite a long time, and then that's where the Lady of the Lake comes from, presenting Merlin with the sword for him to battle great evil for Arthur and whatnot, and then a dragon tells him to put it somewhere where no one could find it, leading onto the sword in the stone, and when Camelot is attacked, Arthur battles Mordred and soon afterwards he-"

"AY! Watch it! Not only have you spoiled this kid's whole future for him, you're going to tell him how it ends?! And you still haven't told anyone how to save Sam!"

"I don't know how it ends, I tear off the last page of books. I don't like endings. And the moose will probably be fine being put off for a while."

"No, he won't be _fine_, he'll be dead!"

"Dean Winchester, your brother won't die in my care. You can take my word for it."

"I barely even know who you are! You say you're some alien from somewhere and you just pick us up and expect everything to go your way? Well, let me tell you, the world is full of ugly surprises, and you're one of them!"

The Doctor's triumph was momentarily interrupted by Dean's harsh words, but it didn't cloud his happy perspective on matters.

"Well, if you do wish to proceed quickly…"

He turned to Castiel, who was huddled over Sam, trying to make better of the situation.

"Angel, you need to transfer your inner magic. It's the same as it's always been, but the magic part might take some time to adjust. Maybe, a few dubbing words in Welsh."

"Welsh?"

"Yes, Dean Winchester, we are in Camelot, which is situated in Wales, where people speak Welsh. Well, their ancient tongue is Welsh, so songs and stuff like that are Welsh, but I suppose they could very well speak English. Or that might just be the TARDIS. In any case…"

The Doctor spun around to greet Merlin again. "Perhaps you know the spells or whatnot? Tell them to the man with the trench coat. Please. It's to help a friend."

The young warlock, lost in all the commotion, was really rather annoyed by now. _Fine, they know I have magic. They seem to know my future. I don't think I even care at this point. I was just going to do what I was set to do, and now I'm tangled in this mess. _

Merlin sighed in defeat. "Let me just do something first."

Only then did he toss the sword into the darkened waters.


	9. Chapter 9

_The woods, outside of the castle – Camelot_

The long walk back to the castle proved difficult. Merlin, unwilling to give the strangers the spells they needed, performed a simple healing task on Sam, who woke up with a jolt. Still drowsy and confused, Sam stumbled alongside Dean, wading through the deep woods while the shadow of the castle fell upon their tiny insignificant lives.

"So, where're you taking us?" The Doctor strolled next to Merlin, causing the young sorcerer to become quite uncomfortable.

"To the king. Or Arthur."

"So, is it like a royal intervention hall or something like that? Are there Knights of the Round Table?"

"Um… No."

"Oh. Oops. Said too much, didn't I? Well, anyways, how's your king?"

"…He's doing fine."

"Why'd he ban magic? It's fun, really."

"I don't know. Maybe you could ask Gaius."

"Gaius? Who's Gaius?"

"He's the court physician."

"Ah. Alright, then." The Doctor turned to his gathered quintet. "Does anyone have the time? I was rather hoping we'd be able to keep a tight schedule for once. Of course, who needs a schedule? Still, anyone?"

Nobody answered.

"…Hello?"

It was too dark to see properly, but the Doctor had his new sonic screwdriver at hand, and so he used it promptly.

"…Helllllllooooo? Anyone?" The buzzing from the strange device was making Merlin nervous. Also the fact that no one was behind them.

"Well, that's rude. If you wanted to go awry, you could've just said. No need to wander off without a word… Well, then, it's just us then. Shall we?"

Merlin's instinct was a loud, pounding _NO_.

"Ow!"

"Stop tugging me!"

"It's the branches, Sherlock, not me!"

"Dean, I think-"

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

Dean stumbled out of the brush, Sam supported on his shoulder, followed by Castiel, then John and Sherlock.

"You could've waited," Dean spat at the Doctor.

"We were a meter apart, what do you want me to wait for?"

"We were at least _a mile_ apart. You just disappeared suddenly with the wizard."

"Mile? That's not possible. Or maybe my conversion's incorrect… But we couldn't be a _mile_ apart, you were just here six seconds... Oh."

"What?"

The Doctor scanned the area with his screwdriver. "Oh…"

"Oh what?!" Dean was irritated beyond expression at this point. His brother could be dying, he needed to save his universe, and this man with the striped suit was fiddling with a blue flashlight.

"…There's…a slight…time lag…" The Doctor banged his screwdriver on his hand, unable to get any readings. "The area we just went through…has a hole in its time conundrum…Don't know how it got a conundrum in the first place, but…"

"It has stronger gravitational attractions," Castiel said as he took in his surroundings.

"What? No… Time-space conundrums don't just happen due to gravitation…"

"He's right, Doctor. I think there's a need to point out that we're all facing the direction we just came from," Sherlock interjected, almost politely.

"No, no, no. No! That's not possible! No…"

Merlin cleared his throat. "…If I could interrupt, it's _very _dark outside and it isn't a good time to be arguing about what happened when we were walking or not walking."

The Doctor turned around to face Merlin, and paused a second before walking onwards. "Of course."

"Um, Doctor?"

"Yes, Merlin?"

"You're going the wrong way."

"…Ah. Alright, this way then."

The septet marched on through the dreary, darkened forest, the crunch of footsteps sounding in a harmonious echo behind them. Merlin kicked up some leaves once in a while when everyone was too silent for comfort.

By the time they arrived at the border of the castle, it was already beginning to lighten up. Merlin cursed himself for getting into this. Now he had to bring six weird people to Gaius' quarters, not to mention the fact that he still had to work with no sleep.

"You could still see the stars, even though the sun's coming up…" Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, big boy, you could enjoy the stars later," Dean replied, trying not to groan under the weight of his gigantic brother.

"You could barely see _any _stars in London, anymore. They're all…polluted. By other lights." But John still reminisced what those few stars looked like.

"…Other lights? What other lights?" Merlin, ever the confused by these peculiar people.

"Oh…" John felt himself struggle with an answer in the dark. "It…It's nothing."

"That's why it's better not to say anything, John," Sherlock teased.

"Hm. If any of you want to see any stars, you could always join me. I could take you to actual stars, not that that would be the main attraction. It's mostly the planets that are far more interesting than the star, not the other way around… Still, stars are fun. Big, fiery balls of gas, just floating out in space. Pretty exciting, eh?" The Doctor nudged Merlin, and the young sorcerer stared at the man with confusion etched on every particle of his face.

The Doctor didn't notice.

They got to a side "entrance", one with a very small, vent-like thing. Merlin tried to pry it open, but, of course – as luck would have it – it wouldn't budge. He contemplated for a second, before giving in.

"_Agored._"

The hatch opened without so much as a creak.

Merlin turned around to face the group. "Get in."

"What?!" Dean looked at the young one with disbelief. "Can't we just, you know… Go through the front door?"

"It's more fun like this, don't you think?" The Doctor slipped through the opening.

Dean sighed.

Merlin led them down the hallway to Gaius' room. He was still awake, poring over some books.

"Gaius!"

The old man looked up. "Merlin! Where have you been?! Arthur's been looking for you."

"…You didn't tell him I went to the tavern, did you?"

"Uh…"

"…You did, didn't you?"

Gaius gave an apologetic smile.

Merlin sighed.

"You didn't eat anything yet, did you?"

"No."

"I'll go get you something from the kitchen."

"The kitchen?"

"Yes. The kitchen. Before I go to sleep. _I_ can't cook you dinner at this hour."

Merlin smiled. "Thanks, Gaius."

Gaius left the room, leaving Merlin alone – with six other people.

"Get into my room. Now! Before Gaius comes back!"

They scrambled into the cramped space, and Merlin shut the door.

"Just stay here for the night. We'll figure out everything tomorrow."

"But it _is _tomorrow," The Doctor whined.

"JUST. Sleep." Merlin went out the door.

He peeked back into the room. "Goodnight."


End file.
